


like 1, 2, 3, and i'll be there

by hexburn (thestormapproaches)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Hurt, I Made Myself Cry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestormapproaches/pseuds/hexburn
Summary: Three people to whom Tim turns after the world turns against him.Two who have no answers.One who, surprisingly, might.
Relationships: Nick "LS" De Cesare/Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek, Oskar "Selfmade" Boderek/Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek, Sebastian "Malice" Edholm & Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek
Kudos: 35





	like 1, 2, 3, and i'll be there

**Author's Note:**

> sadge  
> i just hope he's doing okay :.)

“What did I do wrong?”

Tim’s eyes are wide, and watery, and pleading, seeking an answer in Nick the way they seemingly always have.

“Did I do something wrong? Is it my champion pool?”

He sniffles, and he looks back down at his hands.

Nick feels his expression melt into sorrow.

“Nick, is there something wrong with me? Please tell me.”

The hand that had been supporting Tim’s chin falls off the desk to cling to his other hand in his lap. Tim’s head hangs low, his hair drifting forward with the pull of gravity and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Nick?”

Nick tries his hardest not to cry.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly. “Nothing at all. Tim-”

“Please, just tell me.”

“Tim, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I can take it.”

Tim’s face is hidden, and Nick isn’t sure he wants to see it.

Tim always cries silently, Nick knows this to be a fact; Tim cries so silently that no one would ever know he cries unless they look at his face and see the tears streaming down his narrow, almost gaunt cheeks.

And Tim is silent.

And his hanging, fluffy hair hides his face.

And Nick’s heart breaks.

“Tim, you didn’t do anything wrong. Please believe me.”

Tim’s entire frame, his bony shoulders and horribly-skinny arms, the hoodie draped over him that he doesn’t come even close to filling out, it all slumps forward, and Tim buries his face in his arms and his hands.

“Oh, Tim...”

The silence drags on.

“What did I do wrong?” Tim begs, sobbing this time.

For once in his life, Nick is dumbfounded.

Tim turns his gaze upon Nick. “What did I do wrong?” he pleads with tear-soaked lashes and watery green eyes and saltwater staining his shirt sleeves, hoping Nick might have the answers yet again, the way he always does, the way he always has, the way he always is for Tim.

And yet, Nick has none.

\---

“What did I do wrong?” Tim asks as Oskar holds him on their last night together before Tim returns to Slovenia and Oskar stays in Berlin, too ashamed of his country to return, not even for his family.

Oskar makes a disgruntled, confused face. “I mean, you should check the label next time to make sure it’s salt and not sugar when you’re cooking,” he concludes, not sure about what Tim could be apologising for other than their food mishaps. “And salt is usually in small containers, you know?”

“Not that,” Tim mumbles. His hood over his head hides his face from Oskar’s view, but by the way he sighs and nuzzles deeper into Oskar’s hug, this can’t be good.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Season,” Tim says so quietly Oskar nearly mishears him. It almost sounds like “seasoning,” and Oskar very nearly bursts into laughter.

And then the reality of what Tim had said hits him, and he nearly bursts into tears instead.

“Oh, Neme, you didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, there’s misplays, but everyone misplays. Faker didn’t even make it to Worlds, y’know.”

“And we were one game away from making it to semis.”

“The top eight in the world, you know that, right? We were the top eight in the world, Tim.”

“Like any of that matters when- when...”

“When what.”

Tim mumbles something inaudible, forcing Oskar to shift his head down, desperately, trying to get some sort of clue as to what Tim is saying.

“When what?”

“29 death threats, 217 DMs just to flame me. I’m too scared to make a tweet about the loss.”

Oskar’s heart shatters into a thousand crumbling pieces.

“Oh, Tim,” he murmurs as though those words could ever undo the hurt or block out the pain, “oh, Tim.” His fingers trace whorls in Tim’s back, trying to push away all the negativity and summon some sort of shield against the harsh world.

Tim sniffles the tiniest sniffle. Oskar can feel his shirt growing damp with Tim’s tears.

“Was I enough for you?” Tim asks through sobs, so quiet that only Oskar could hear them even in the dead of night, so quiet that anyone who hasn’t held Tim through his crying time and time again would never know he cried.

“Of course you were, Tim. Of course you were. You’re always enough.”

But even as Oskar holds Tim close and rubs his back and cradles his head and his too-thin body, he can tell Tim doesn’t believe it.

\---

“Seb?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you do when the whole world hates you?”

“Hate them back,” Seb says flippantly. “Who gives a shit what they think?” From where he sits in a dingy apartment in Turkey with his girlfriend, nothing seems really real. There’s soloQ, yes, and now Tim on the voicecall with him, voice echoing into the apartment through Seb’s speakers as he grinds through more games, but other than that... Nothing really matters except keeping poor Tim safe.

But, “I don’t know if I can hate that many people,” Tim answers in a voice smaller than Seb has ever heard anyone use before, like a kitten’s mewl in a cacophonous storm, and, well, if Seb felt like Tim was a baby brother to him before, it looks like it’s time to be the protective, strong older brother, now.

“I don’t think you should,” Seb concedes. “You don’t have it in you, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers.

Passing through the room with two kittens in her arms, on the way to feed them in the kitchen, Seb’s lovely girlfriend glares at him, and he immediately shrinks. “Not like that, idiot,” he says more gently. “You’re too nice, not all withered and salty and toxic like me. You’ll just hurt yourself if you try to hate everyone. That’s what I do, not what you should do.”

“Then what should I do?”

With a sigh, Seb AFKs his soloQ game. Tim is worth more than his masters promos, anyway.

“Remember that you come first. Someday, all your haters will forget about you, and only you will matter to you. They can hate you all they like, but one day they will leave. And you’ll never be able to escape yourself, so no matter what they say, never let them make you hate yourself. Alright? That’s the first step.”

Tim weakly hums, just to let Seb know he’s there.

“They haven’t gotten you yet, have they?”

“They’re getting close.” Tim’s voice wavers.

“What do you like about yourself?” Seb asks out of the blue, and Tim does not answer. “I know I like a lot of things about you.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for one, you don’t judge. A lot of people wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot stick.”

“Why not?”

“They’re afraid of me,” Seb supposes, “or my reputation, or of being associated with me. Some of them hate me. Most of them are scared to be hated by the people who hate me.”

“But you’re just like everyone else.”

“I know that, and you know that, but not everyone thinks that way.” Seb sighs and plays with his own hair, tucking it behind his headphones band as per usual. “You have a big heart, Tim. Nick has one, too. It’ll hurt a lot, sometimes, but you should be proud of it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright.” Softly, Seb smiles. He wishes he could ruffle Tim’s hair right now. “So, second step: you know what’s best for you. No one else does. You make your choices, don’t worry about the rest of us or what people say. You do what is right for you. Got that?”

“Yep,” Tim says a bit more strongly. One might even think he sounded alive. If Seb were only with Tim right now... he’d ruffle Tim’s hair, and give him a hug, and pat his back, and fight whatever fuckers were making him sad.

“And three. Your friends - your real friends - love you. Love you like a brother, man.” Some probably more than just brotherly love, but all of them - love.

“And we’re never gonna let you go.”

And it’s true.

“Thank you, Seb.”

“No problem,” says Seb like it’s nothing, even though he can hear Tim sobbing now. It sounds like a torrent, like unleashing a hundred bad emotions that have clung to your chest and refused to let go, like shedding a skin and becoming alive again, like escaping death with an Evelynn ult and the relief that comes from it, like freeing your heart from a thousand black tendrils trying to tear into it.

Poor Tim. He must have needed this more than words can say.

“We’ve got you.”

It’s three simple words, but it works.

And for the first time all night, Seb thinks he hears the premonitions of a giggle and a smile on Tim’s breath.


End file.
